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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595439">You Know What They Do To Guys Like Us In Prison</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowhound/pseuds/sparrowhound'>sparrowhound</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Age Difference, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Underage Drinking</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 07:07:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,416</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28595439</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrowhound/pseuds/sparrowhound</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Diego just knows this is doomed from the start...but he can't keep himself away from the taste of coffee and gin.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Diego Hargreeves/Eudora Patch, Number Five | The Boy &amp; Diego Hargreeves, Number Five | The Boy/Diego Hargreeves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>71</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Medium Dark Roast. No Room.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Time didn't mean much to Diego Reyes.</p>
<p>He was always a little bit awake, even in the fitful rest he settled for as "sleep." The see-saw of his physical stamina and mental acuity was always teetering dangerously on a fulcrum of carefully balanced catnaps and caffeine intake. </p>
<p>During the day, he worked odd jobs, because nothing happened in daylight that had anything to do with him. Currently, he was employed in three separate places: the local YMCA as a lifeguard, the coffee shop that held the majority of his shifts, and the boxing gym he cleaned as rent for a bed in the boiler room.</p>
<p>At night, though, he became something more than himself. He'd never taken a moniker, never left a calling card. He didn't want to be on the cover of a comic book or have a collection of medals.</p>
<p>Diego became a hero in the dark, righting wrongs that he didn't trust to be handled by a police department he didn't like. He stopped home invasions, settled domestic disputes, quieted noise complaints, found missing children in the 24-hour waiting period. </p>
<p>His strange talent for curving things he threw became apparent as a child, throwing rocks at bullies that mocked his prominent stutter; his mother recognized this.</p>
<p>"Oh, Diego," she would say, dabbing at some cut or bruise gained in the pursuit of schoolyard justice, "You have the heart of a lion. Always stay brave and safe. You make me so proud."</p>
<p>All Diego ever wanted was to live up to her words, and as he grew older and set out on his own, it became painfully apparent to him where the need was greatest. The grimy neighborhoods of the city, deemed "low income" by residents, not "quaint" enough for tourists--this was where crime was rampant. Diego's heart broke at the chaos around him, watching as his people's cries for help fell on the deaf ears of those meant to protect and serve.</p>
<p>Fate came to him in a pawn shop, just outside his neighborhood. He had gone in to look for work, but a bit of light glinted in his peripheral and drew his attention to a corner of the glass display counter. There, among anodized iridescent butterfly knives, rustic wooden pocket knives, and a few suspicious sets of brass knuckles, sat his future: a set of throwing knives, twelve in all. They were sleek, matte silver, and they called to him with a siren song that he could feel in his very bones. </p>
<p>For the price of 3 graveyard cleaning shifts, Diego walked away a dozen knives richer. He'd taken his first steps onto the path of the rest of his life, and in those overnight shifts, he found energy and excitement buzzing through him for a chance to practice with his knives again. </p>
<p>He became familiar with the night, with what she allowed and what she forbade, and how to best move about his city in a way that would protect her from harm. In a place where no one seemed to care, he stayed strong, and he stayed safe. Only now, the rest of his people were safe, too.</p><hr/>
<p>Tenuous as his relationship with time was, coffee shop shifts were Diego's favorite, because he was awake at the best time of day: dawn. </p>
<p>The dim hue of the early morning sky mixed with the chill in the air always brought a little life to his heart; and no matter how long or painful the night before had been, making coffee to warm against the brisk climate allowed him a routine to take his mind off of things for a while.</p>
<p>There were regulars, young and old, and it didn't take long for Diego to memorize their orders. It was all part of the routine, part of the cycle of <em>coffee → transaction → next in line.</em> Diego often went to work bruised, sometimes bleeding through wads of gauze and dollar-store band-aids, but the routine kept him focused, and that was what he needed most of all.</p>
<p>This day was a Thursday, and he'd come to work with a cracked rib and a split lower lip, along with a hundred fresh bruises from a tussle with a drunk creep. His body ached in a way he was familiar with now; he'd forgotten what it was like to have no pain in his muscles and joints.</p>
<p>"You look like hell," Leonard chuckled, another barista on the morning shift. He was manning the espresso machine today, allowing Diego to take it easy for the next five-and-a-half hours. </p>
<p>"I feel like it, too," Diego sighed, a wry grin playing at his lips. "Boxing's no joke, man. Especially when you're the fall guy."</p>
<p>Leonard shook his head. "I believe you. Couldn't be me out there, taking those hits."</p>
<p><em>It has to be someone,</em> Diego thought to himself, but he chose instead to just shrug.</p>
<p>"Can't hit a punching bag forever! Gotta get up against some real action once in a while."</p>
<p>"Oh, and <em>you're</em> real action?"</p>
<p>He had to close his eyes for a moment and lean on the countertop as sudden frustration coursed through him. Diego hated being seen as weak, in any capacity, so even Leonard's innocent joke managed to sting his pride. </p>
<p>Still, he knew his coworker didn't mean anything by it, and saw Diego just as he saw literally anyone else, so he allowed himself a moment of calm before continuing.</p>
<p>"Maybe you'll come out to the gym one day, let me knock you on your ass."</p>
<p>Leonard laughed in earnest--he seemed to get a kick out of that.</p>
<p>"Absolutely fuckin' not," he countered. "I might make jokes, but you'd make mincemeat outta me."</p>
<p>The sound of someone clearing their throat brought Diego back to the moment. He shook his head apologetically and began to smile, before realizing he had to look down at the customer in front of him.</p>
<p>A boy, no older than fourteen or so, stood with his arms folded and an unamused scowl on his face. </p>
<p>"Whenever you gentlemen are done," he said snidely, scrunching up his nose. </p>
<p>"Sorry," Diego sniffed, opening up the POS system and readying himself for whatever sugar-loaded abomination this kid would order. "What can I get for you?"</p>
<p>"Medium dark roast. No room."</p>
<p>He gave his order so confidently that it took Diego a moment to really process what he'd said. He had a boy's voice, but the intonation of some of his more...crotchety customers. Besides, kids this age only wanted chocolate chip frozen coffees, or pink strawberry almond milk vegan nonsense. This boy, though, was absolutely staring him down, a bizarre challenge gleaming in his eye. </p>
<p>"Is...that it?"</p>
<p>"That's it," he nodded. A beat passed between them, and the boy flashed a wide, toothy grin that signaled anything but a polite demeanor. </p>
<p>"Dollar ninety-five," Diego finally replied, punching in the order on the register and taking the card the boy offered him.</p>
<p>"Sorry, no cash," he shrugged.</p>
<p>Diego looked at the name on the card, then at the boy. He sure didn't look like an “Allison Hargreeves.”</p>
<p>"Buddy. This is, uh--"</p>
<p>"It's my sister's," the boy interrupted, nonchalantly scraping his thumbnail against the tip of his middle finger. </p>
<p>"I can't take this," Diego replied, handing it back with a chuckle. "Your sister needs to be here."</p>
<p>The boy looked furious, a sudden and dark anger that flagged Diego's fight or flight. Instinctively, he reached behind himself for the knives at the small of his back, readying for a fight; but an awkward cough from Leonard reminded him that this was a small coffee shop, and he was glowering at a fourteen year old boy.</p>
<p>"Forget this," the boy sighed, exasperation deeply evident in his tone. "Keep your <em>fakakta</em> coffee, I'm goin' to Griddy's."</p>
<p>He began to walk away, but something tugged at Diego that he hadn't felt before. </p>
<p>"Hey, kid," he said loudly, waving his less-injured arm. "Wait, come back!"</p>
<p>A frown crossed the boy's features as he looked over his shoulder, but he trudged back to the counter with an exaggerated eye roll. </p>
<p>It felt smug, but also kind, to fill a cup of coffee to the brim then hand it to the boy. </p>
<p>"This one's on me," Diego grinned.</p>
<p>The boy softened for a moment, blue-green eyes flickering between the coffee cup and Diego's face. A grin tugged at the corner of his mouth, and Diego watched as the two small freckles on his cheek disappeared into a charming dimple. </p>
<p>"Thank you," he finally said, nodding to the barista as though they were old war buddies. "I'll have cash next time."</p>
<p>"I'll be here," Diego nodded in return, and something heinous twisted in his stomach when he felt hope that the boy would return while he was on shift. </p>
<p>He wanted to see that smile again. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Checking Out and Checking In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eudora Patch.</p><p>How was Diego meant to summarize Eudora Patch? She was so much to him, arguably his first real love. Of course, the number of times she'd cuffed and tazed him--outside the bedroom--had put a bit of a damper on things.</p><p>He'd met her when the police were called to a home invasion, and she entered to find Diego crawling out a back window after incapacitating three thieves. She took off after him, believing him to be another criminal, and quickly overtook him. She'd straddled his hips to cuff him, immediately Mirandizing him and hauling him to his feet. </p><p>It was then that Diego fell in love. </p><p>His good looks and boyish attitude eventually won her over, and they agreed to date as privately as possible. It went well, for a while, until Patch ran into Diego handling bullet casings at the scene of a domestic dispute. Diego was there because he knew the man who'd been shot, but Patch had to take the fall for the evidence being tainted. She'd given him a long lecture when they returned to her place, and that was when Diego first felt the shift. </p><p>Fear clenched his heart every time he was with her, fear that any moment would be their last moment together. He knew she was keeping a breakup in her back pocket, a failsafe in case things got too bad. The thought of proposal had crossed his mind, but he knew she would turn him down. Their relationship was a tightrope walk as it was, having her be married to him would only complicate her life so much more. </p><p>So he wasn't sure how it was that he got here, sitting on her front porch with her, trying to summarize all the things he loved about her. He never stuttered in front of Eudora, and he refused to now. He pictured every word in his mind, slow and deliberate, then compiled them in an imaginary list. </p><p>
  <em>Brave.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Intelligent.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Beautiful.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Passionate.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>Just. </em>
</p><p>"Eudora," he finally began, taking her hands in his, "I really love you."</p><p>
  <em>I love you, but this just isn't sustainable.</em>
</p><p>She pulled her hands away, shaking her head. "I'm not stupid, Diego. I know what this is."</p><p>"No, it's not like that, it's--"</p><p>She held up her hand to stop him. </p><p>"Look. I don't like goodbyes. You know that. So I just wanna say that you beat me to the punch, and I'd like to stay friends. Sound good?"</p><p>Her hand extended for a handshake. Diego recognized her tone--the cop voice. She had already checked out, and he'd simply managed to start the conversation first. He swallowed hard, his dark eyes searching hers for anything, but something had gone matte in her gaze. She was already done having this chat. </p><p>"Why?" He rasped. </p><p>A heavy sigh escaped her as she lowered her hand.</p><p>"I can't be constantly arresting my own boyfriend," Patch admitted, tilting her head and looking at the ground. "I'm up for a promotion, Diego. They wanna make me a detective."</p><p>"You've wanted that a long time," he nodded, willing himself not to cry the tears that pricked at his eyes. She'd already know, of course, because she could read Diego like a book; but this was a matter of pride, and he wouldn't falter now. </p><p>It hurt to think that he was an obstacle in her way and nothing else. For so long, he'd imagined them as crime-fighting partners, running side-by-side and taking down bad guys in the dead of night. </p><p>But Eudora Patch, like all things that did not concern Diego, happened in the daylight. They had a muffled conversation, blood rushing in Diego's ears and muting the words they each said, but he must have said them correctly. </p><p>"I'm glad you understand," he heard her say. He nodded, not understanding at all, but unwilling to let on.</p><p>She kissed his cheek, and walked back into the house.</p><p>Diego didn't remember the rest of that day.</p><hr/><p>"You're late, Real Action," Leonard teased as Diego shuffled into the backdoor of the cafe. He had barely slept, laser-focused on the police scanner, and missed the beginning of his shift by forty-five minutes.</p><p>"Sorry, sorry," he grumbled, peeling off his jacket and hanging it on a hook near the door. Leonard had several gallons of milk by the armful, so Diego reached out to take a couple and ease the load.</p><p>"Thanks, but I could use you on dishes," his coworker sighed. "Closers barely did shit last night."</p><p>Diego's eyes drifted to the long silver sink that Leonard had filled with soapy water. In the suds, there floated all manner of metal and plastic accoutrements, sticky from having been half-washed and left to dry.</p><p>"You're fucking with me," he groaned, more to himself than to Leonard. </p><p>"I wish!"</p><p>"If I do dishes, who's on cash?"</p><p>Leonard shrugged. "Some new kid, I dunno his name."</p><p>Diego mirrored Leonard's nonchalant shrug and tugged up the sleeves of his sweater, then fished his earbuds and phone out of his pocket. He swiped left and right on his phone to choose just the right music, then slipped the phone back into his back pocket and got to work.</p><p>Time passed quickly when he was able to busy himself this way. He usually enjoyed listening to anything he could half-dance to as he worked; but today, he was still hurting, and he chose a pre-curated playlist entitled "Breakup 💔"</p><p>He knew a handful of the songs, others were new to him, but they all seemed to echo his heartbreak and pain. Endless singers and lyricists, all coming together to create songs for the saddest moments in life, losing someone you loved. </p><p><em>What the hell am I even going to do without you,</em> he thought to himself as he rinsed off the blade attachment to a blender. <em>I should never have started that stupid conversation. You'd never have brought it up then. We could have carried on, done all the things we used to talk about. I was stupid to think I could do without--</em></p><p>Someone touched his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. He was so startled that he dropped the blades, and when he tried to catch it with soap-slick hands, the gleaming metal came down and slashed open the palm of his left hand. Loud expletives in both English and Spanish spilled from his lips as he turned to give a hard stare at whoever touched him. </p><p>"Fuck, man!" Diego furrowed his brow at Leonard, who held up his hands in surrendered apology. </p><p>"Sorry, I tried calling you but you didn't answer! Guess it was the earbuds?"</p><p>Diego reached up and took each wireless earbud out of his ears, stuffed them in his pocket, then snarled aggressively as he ran his bloody hand under some cold water. </p><p>"What the fuck do you <em>want,</em> Leonard!?"</p><p>"Just...that kid's back. The one with no cash? Says he won't take coffee from anyone but you."</p><p>"What the hell," Diego groaned, wrapping his hand in a clean dish towel and pressing his thumb to the center of his palm. He shouldered past Leonard with an irritable grumble, pushing through the swinging metal door, only to see the same boy in the same uniform. </p><p>He looked smug, at first, but then saw Diego's hand and frowned with...concern?</p><p>"What happened?" he asked coolly, nodding in the direction of the bloody towel. </p><p>"Kitchen accident. Can I help you, kid?" Agitation radiated from Diego, but this boy kept a cool, nearly aloof manner when speaking (which also drove Diego mad). </p><p>"I was gonna order a coffee and say hey, but seems like you might need to run to the ER. I'll come back another day."</p><p>The boy rapped his knuckles on the counter to signify his departure, a wry sort of smile on his face. He looked notably disappointed, though Diego was unsure as to why. He was just a barista, and that was just a kid, no stakes between them. </p><p>"Weird," Diego mumbled, but something caught his eye before returning to the kitchen.</p><p>A slip of paper, and on it, a note in cramped but neat handwriting. A series of digits, followed by only a name.</p><p>"Five Hargreeves"</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Correspondence, or, How the Shit Began to Hit the Fan</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is a small update, just to keep the story moving, Thank you to everyone for reading, and look forward to longer updates very soon!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>Diego held his breath.</p><p>What the fuck was he doing? That kid was...well, a kid! And Diego, a grown man. What was the allure, the appeal? This was wrong and everything in him felt revolt and disgust at his own actions. He should never have texted the kid in the first place, but now he was stuck, and he could either stop now, or stick around for the ride.</p><p>Just delete his number, he said to himself. Just forget this ever happened.</p><p>
  
</p><p>The way Five said "thank you" made something flutter in Diego's chest, but his stomach threatened to upturn at the idea. A little boy making a grown man blush? Not necessarily the best of scenarios.</p><p>
  
</p><p>He was caught. This was it. He'd get rounded up by the police and Eudora would never speak to him again. He'd be a criminal, the very worst of the kinds of bad guys he was insistent on hunting down. No, this had to stop now, before it got--<br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Pay No Attention to the Man Behind the Curtain</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Five lounged on one of the couches in the rec room, long legs crossed ankle-to-knee, wiggling his toes in his black sock feet. In his hands, he held that rarest of treasures: a phone. Not just any phone, either, but a new smartphone, and he felt the marvel of having the world in the palm of his hands. </p><p>Being with the Commission had provided him access to all sorts of omnitemporal technology, like the Infinite Switchboard and the find-you-anywhere pneumatic system, but a smartphone was a luxury that one could not be afforded in their employ. After all, it would make time travel insanely difficult, especially after one poor sap got caught on an iPhone in a photograph from 1943. </p><p>Five grinned to himself, thinking of how he'd survived decades alone in a post-apocalyptic wasteland, and then even more time in the employ of the Temps Commission, without the help of Steve Jobs or any of his gadgets. </p><p><em>Kids today are so spoiled,</em> he mused to himself. <em>Can't go fifteen minutes without a phone in their hands.</em></p><p>He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear Klaus approach the sofa, so he startled when his vision suddenly went dark from two palms over his eyes.</p><p>"Guess who," came Klaus' boyish voice, but Five was so irritated with him that his only reply was an elbow to the ribs.</p><p>"Fuck off, I'm busy," Five snapped, waving one hand in the air as though he were shooing away a flurry of moths, rather than his brother's two large hands. The fluorescents of the sandwich shop-turned-rec room flooded his vision with light once again, and he looked over his shoulder with a scowl. "What do you want?"</p><p>"I can't just visit my favorite little brother?" Klaus put on his silly little pout, walking around the front of the sofa to sit by Five's feet on the last empty cushion. "This house is so big, seems like we go days without seeing each other."</p><p>"What, you wanna run drills like when we were kids? Miss having the old man breathing down our necks?"</p><p>"Miss having <em>someone</em> breathe down my neck," Klaus mumbled, picking at the faux feather lining of his jacket. He peeked up at Five, a mischievous little grin playing at the corner of his mouth. "Maybe someone in particular...?"</p><p>Five pressed his lips together into a thin line, eyes flickering down to the phone screen before looking back to his puppy-eyed brother. Klaus had cut his hair short, and now it grew out in messy, soft curls. Combined with the smudged eyeliner and signature goatee, it was hard to deny that Klaus was handsome--beautiful, even, if one was so inclined. </p><p>And Five <em>had</em> been inclined...until he'd met Diego At The Coffee Shop. </p><p>Now, something twisted in his stomach to think about engaging with Klaus while pursuing Diego. Of course, he was currently testing Diego's mettle, seeing how far the man was willing to go when given one very improbable scenario. Five had worked hard to convince himself that this was all his actions were: an exercise in morality and personal conviction, and not at all a way to coax out the perverse thrill of men eyeing his young form. </p><p>Not that Five had been unattractive in his older body--Dolores had always made a point to tell him how handsome he was, and she had excellent taste in men, fashion, and advanced spatial physics. Ever since The Handler, though, there had been something...hungry...within him. She had flirted with Five in his old age, and they'd even had a fling or two with a couple of the interns who were eager to chase Five's interdepartmental fame (and the Handler's ability to give them full-time employment).</p><p>But coming back young made him aware of a lust that most people would never admit to. </p><p>Even the Handler had made suggestive comments about his body through their time-travelling trials, mentioning his slim legs in the schoolboy shorts, particularly. When the dust had settled, and everyone had gone back to their normal lives, it was (unsurprisingly) Klaus who had approached Five, kissed him, held him, and woke in him the desire to be something forbidden. </p><p>These days, being a honey trap was his favorite pastime, seeing as he had little else to do--and so far, Klaus had been queen bee. Klaus scratched an itch for Five, and Five provided companionship for Klaus. It was a relationship of sorts, though neither would have called it romantic, Five was sure. Ever since meeting Diego, the "relationship" had simmered, and even though it had only been a handful of days, Klaus was already beginning to whine. </p><p>"No," Five replied flatly, shoving Klaus away with one of his feet. "I told you, I'm busy."</p><p>"With what?"</p><p>"None of your goddamn business, Klaus. Go huff paint or something."</p><p>Klaus put on his most dramatic expression of affront, a small scoff squeaking out of his chest. "I most definitely do not huff paint, sir," he sniffed. "And I am offended by the implication. However, since we are on the topic of breathing, and huffing, we might as well be...smoking."</p><p>A beat passed between them, then Five nodded. Klaus scurried off, leaping over the arm of the couch and near galloping up the stairs to his bedroom. In the meantime, Five smiled at the phone, reading Diego's messages from the night before over and over. Their chat had been brief, but Diego had agreed to meet with him, and that was enough to spur Five onward. </p><p>The sound of nails <em>tip-tapping</em> across the floor alerted Five to the insistent presence of his puppy, Mr. Pennycrumb. </p><p>Of course, he wasn't the original Mr. Pennycrumb, but now that Reginald was dead, Five could pick up where he left off in childhood, and that included the joy of dog ownership. Pennycrumb sort of filled the Dolores void, offering Five someone to talk to who would keep all his secrets and only judge him in silence. He smiled when the puppy struggled his way up onto the couch cushions to lay in the groove between Five's side and the back of the couch.</p><p>"Good boy," Five mumbled, rubbing Pennycrumb's ears with the spidery fingers of his right hand, holding his phone in his left. "We're gonna go meet a new friend today," he continued. "I think you'll like him. Daddy likes him a lot."</p><p>"Does he now?"</p><p>Once again, Klaus' habit of padding about in bare feet rendered him silent as a cat, and Five had not noticed him come back downstairs. In his hands he held a small metal cylinder, a glass pipe, and a pill bottle. </p><p>"The finest AK-47 money can buy," Klaus announced, shaking the suspiciously silent bottle. Of course, Five knew the drill here. Klaus would grind the weed and smoke most of the bowl, and he'd take a puff or two just to take the edge off. </p><p>"Might have to wait," Five chuckled, pointing to the puppy at his side. "I can't get up."</p><p>"I'll come to you," his brother replied, already busying himself with the grinder. Five wasn't sure what Klaus meant--which was usually the case--but watched with half-lidded eyes as the nimble fingers packed the glass pipe and lit it with what was undoubtedly a priceless antique of a lighter. </p><p>Milky smoke curled in the air as Klaus took a hit, holding it and approaching Five's side of the couch. He tiled Five's head back gently, leaning over him so that, to Five he was upside-down, and used his thumb to coax Five's mouth open. </p><p>An electric thrill ran through the boy's body as Klaus brought himself down, their lips tantalizingly close, and blew the acrid smoke into Five's waiting mouth. They'd done this before, of course, because Klaus took the opportunity to shotgun with anyone who would sit still, but Five fought hard to suppress the cough in his throat and chest, just so he could enjoy this a moment longer. </p><p>Klaus was smiling, leaning in to kiss him, when Five couldn't hold back any longer. He opened his mouth, ready to cough and embarrass himself fully, but instead, a handful of words tumbled from his lips that made Klaus back away and frown. </p><p>He felt them bubble up, then out they came:</p><p><em>"Stop.</em> I have a date today."</p>
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